Kire19
With Meg not feeling up to eating supper in the dining room, Julia decided to make a meal for the four of us while Ruby prepared a meal for Meg, Charles, and Madeline.
Madeline, to my surprise, seemed slightly disappointed we were not sitting to supper with her, but she failed to say anything outright. Instead, she chose to offer a heavy sigh and frown, complaining that she hoped we wouldn't forget to visit.
How she expected to be rid of Alex tromping through the house I had no idea—especially consider the close proximity of our homes. Quite frankly I thought she should look forward to a week of peace while we were away.
"Monsieur," Charles called out before I departed for the night. "Our toast," he reminded me.
I turned on my heel before I reached the kitchen and joined him in the parlor where he poured two glasses of brandy and motioned me into the room.
"I realize normally this is an after-dinner drink, but I assure you this here is some of the finest liquor out of Russia. This, Monsieur Kire, deserves to be shared between good friends and family—as long as one enjoys his family." He chuckled to himself and handed me a drink, which I accepted and held at a distance as though the glass contained poison. In a way I suppose it did.
Charles went on for a moment praising the deep caramel coloring as he rolled the drink around in his glass and spoke of its origin. He seemed quite excited as he inhaled the scent and asked me to do the same. I humored him briefly, but whatever he considered as sweet as perfume, I associated with a cellar and a man whose footsteps had made me shudder for more than a decade.
Since I knew little of alcohol, I regarded Charles as he spoke, wondering how in the world he managed to retain so much information on everything from Latin to brandy to distant tribal communities in Africa. He sounded equally excited about brandy as he did about politics and the discovery of new species in the Amazon.
"You are awfully quiet," Charles said after a brief pause. He rearranged his coaster, treating the small, round piece of leather more like a strategic chess piece than drink holder. "I sincerely apologize if you had matters to attend with your new family, Monsieur Kire."
I shot him a look. "Merely in thought," I explained.
"I suppose on a day such as this there is much to consider."
He had no idea.
"Do you like the brandy?" he asked, fishing for conversation.
I had taken one small sip and found the drink nearly intolerable in strength, which I assumed was what he found so enjoyable. Thankfully there was a small amount poured into my glass.
Just when I started to tell him I found his imported brandy much too strong, I paused, realizing how utterly disappointed he would be in my criticizing.
"I prefer the conversation," I wisely replied.
He stared at me as though gauging whether or not this was a fabrication.
"Are you…?" With his eyes narrowed, he stopped in mid-sentence and cleared his throat. "You're jesting."
"Not at all," I assured him, taking a ghastly sip. Liquid fire engulfed my throat. I swallowed hard in an attempt to eliminate the taste from my mouth.
Unaware of my horrid state, Charles raised his glass and appeared satisfied with my words. "We should toast first," he said, his tone almost apologetic. "Before we reach the bottom of the glass."
I said nothing in return as I held up my glass and watched Charles do the same. I knew as I glanced at the liquid sloshing around the glass that I would not reach the bottom.
"To our sons," he said proudly.
"And daughters," I added firmly. Lisette absolutely deserved to be included in the toast. She was a remarkable child, bright as Alex in every way and the perfect, compassionate example of Julia's love. I was proud to call her my daughter—and I would not allow anyone to speak ill or harm her in any way.
Charles held his glass up slightly higher. "To our sons for making us better men and our daughters, whom I hope to God never meet any man like us."
I grunted at his words. "Or men in general," I added. As far as I was concerned, no man would ever be suitable.
Charles let out a hearty laugh. "And to think we both have just become fathers to daughters. What will we do when they notice boys?"
"Keep them both within sight at all times and blindfold if necessary," I answered as I set my glass on the table much harder than necessary and sat back. "And give any suitor foolish enough to look at them reason to run for their miserable, worthless life."
Charles nodded in appreciation and took another sip of his drink, which emptied his glass. A spike of apprehension rattled through me as I watched him refill his glass. In all honesty, he added a mere splash, but I wondered if his mood would change, if a perfectly jovial and even-tempered man would find rage hidden deep inside.
I didn't understand how Charles could so easily drink his brandy. He continued on about how smooth it went down and the pleasant aftertaste, which made me wonder if my own father had taken these traits into consideration.
"We can only hope they stay children forever," Charles said as he admired his glass.
"Or that every young man in France leaves before Lisette turns twelve."
Charles offered a smile. "You truly have an unmatched sense of humor, Monsieur."
Little did he know, my words were not meant as humor. If any young man—be him gangly and awkward or broad-shouldered and sure of his pompous self—dared to rap upon my door and ask to see my daughter, he would regret his actions dearly. There was no such thing as a young man with good intentions. They were all scoundrals, every one of them.
"You truly don't enjoy the brandy, do you?" Charles asked suddenly, a light, musical quality to his voice.
At last I exhaled. "Not particularly." I grabbed the glass from the desk top and looked at the caramel-colored elixir, wondering how something so inconsequential could fuel rage beyond comprehension. The heavy scent of alcohol nearly made my stomach turn.
"Perhaps a different drink, then?"
"I'm afraid not, Monsieur. My father enjoyed such drinks more than enough. I refuse to follow in his footsteps," I said angrily.
Charles made a noise, a sort of groan which I assumed was a form of wordless apology. I didn't look directly at him, but from the corner of my eye I could see him slowly set his drink onto the coaster and sit back. He folded his hands and sat in silence, which I suspected meant he was dissecting my words.
Foolishly I did the same, wondering why I had been so forthcoming with even vague details of my past. I had never dared to share more than polite greetings with Charles, but for years he had been nothing more than a teacher for my son. My words, however, were far too intimate and revealing.
"I was not aware you knew your father, Monsieur." Charles reached for his glass and took another sip of brandy. He appeared somewhat nervous, perhaps embarrassed on my behalf. "Forgive me, you've never spoken of him that I recall."
"He was never deserving of mention," I said sharply.
"I see," Charles replied.
I looked away from my son's tutor and struggled to find the correct words.
"He had no tolerance for anyone," I said without looking in Charles' direction. "The moment I saw Alexandre, I swore I would not be the sort of man my father was."
Irritated, I started to reach for my drink, but stopped myself and retracted my hand from the cool, smooth glass, fully aware of my escalating anger and the reasons behind my bubbling rage. I would harness my malcontent rather than fuel my anger.
"He favored hard liquor," Charles said. I couldn't tell if he intended his words to be a question or statement.
I didn't know quite what my father favored as he drank straight from the bottle. The contents could have been stolen brandy or cheap wine. I distinctly recalled the sound of liquid sloshing around the inside of a glass bottle as he stomped into the cellar, the wooden stairs moaning beneath his weight. He favored whatever was at hand. I knew for certain he had never favored me.
"The sharp odor," I said suddenly. "The taste I'm sure is acquired, but the smell….the scent alone makes my stomach turn."
Charles lowered his head. "I don't know what to say, Monsieur. I had no idea. Please understand that if I did, I would have never suggested-"
"Of course not," I said before he finished speaking. Absently I pushed my glass further away, wanting nothing to do with the contents. "I've made the mistake of paying tribute to my father once. I have no desire to do it again."
